


Oh My Goth

by BlastHardcheese



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Clothing Kink, M/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 16:38:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1273531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlastHardcheese/pseuds/BlastHardcheese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's going undercover in kind of a punk/goth look. Steve secretly thinks it's really hot. Then it becomes not so much of a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh My Goth

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2012 for the Avengers kink meme and then never posted it because I'm really bad at kink memes. I hope the OP sees this one day.

Steve couldn't stop staring. Tony had led him and Bruce into a small meeting room where they found Clint decked out in his latest undercover disguise. It was an elaborate ensemble involving several very tattered layers of clothing, black nail lacquer, and tattoos. Steve was trying to giggle along with everyone else as Tony made scathing comments, but he was too distracted by indecent thoughts to be convincing. Usually he was good at banishing such ideas. Usually. All the exposed skin and dark eye make up was making it difficult. Hopefully no one would notice. Maybe his reaction would be interpreted as culture shock. At this point it was his best defense. 

"Ha ha ha," Clint said in mock laughter before flipping Tony off. 

Tony smirked. "Be careful you don’t chip a nail."

“I have to meet a contact in a goth club or something, okay? I didn't choose to look like this.” He tried to tuck several chunks of dark shaggy hair behind his ear and failed miserably. The messy wig had been styled so precisely that it refused to fall in any other way. Steve had noticed this as a trend in contemporary fashion--going to a whole lot of trouble to look like shit. Clint kind of looked liked shit, but it _really_ suited him.

“I kind of like it,” interjected Natasha.

Clint glared at her. “Don't you start.” He gestured to a pile of accessories sitting on the conference table, “They just gave me this stuff and told me to pick some things out. Any advice, Nat?”

“Well,” she studied the selection. “You've got to have some studded bracelets. And this,” she slipped a small hoop over his bottom lip. 

“Ooh, fake piercings?” Tony asked, suddenly intrigued. He dug out several and began attaching them to different parts of his face. Bruce snorted a laugh. Natasha plucked them off Tony one at a time and placed them on Clint's ears. 

Tony was already distracted by something new. “Gotta have this.” Before Clint could protest, Tony fastened a leather collar around his neck and wiggled the large metal ring that hung from it. Clint scowled. 

“Perfect, right Cap?” Bruce said stepping back beside Steve, who had been desperately trying to back out of the room undetected. Now everyone was looking at him. Shit.

Tony held his hands up as if he was presenting Clint like one of the ladies on those midday game shows Steve watched with Thor when everyone else was off being productive. Steve assumed his most stereotypical art critic stance and gave Clint a once over. He tried not to linger too long on certain features of the costume. The expanse of his muscular torso visible under a horribly shredded mesh shirt. The clear definition of his sharp hip bones above dangerously low-waisted pants. The quite visible bulge of his crotch just below an ornate belt buckle. He ended up over compensating by spending too much time on the safety pins holding together his jacket and the laces on his thick soled motorcycle boots. Tony was whispering something in Clint's ear that made him smile. Steve felt a little paranoid. He needed to say something before they became suspicious. 

“Are those real?” he asked, pointing at the tattoos just below Clint's clavicle and the large eye in the center of his chest. That was decent question. Good going, Steve.

“No. Fury got some makeup girl to do them,” Clint said taking off his jacket. He held out his arms which were covered in symbols and Victorian looking designs. “Pretty good, huh?” 

Steve nodded as he leaned in for a better look. “I like the Gibson Girl,” he remarked as he ran a finger down Clint's arm next to the tattoo. Oh God, why had he done that.

Tony grabbed Bruce by his elbow and started towards the door. “Well, we’ll leave you to…get in character, or whatever it is you espionage types do before missions.”

“And I have to talk to the rest of the team,” Natasha added, slipping out the door in front of them. Suddenly the room was empty.

“Could you--I can't do this one-handed,” Clint asked, holding out his wrists with the bracelets Natasha had chosen draped over them, unfastened. Steve tried to ignore the overtly submissive gesture. He was fairly certain Clint was just enjoying making him squirm. Tony had probably caught on to Steve’s tame infatuation with Agent Barton and had tipped him off, the bastard.

Steve clenched his jaw as he buckled the bracelets. He could feel Clint watching him and met his gaze as he finished with the last clasp. The thick charcoal rims under his eyes made his wanton expression infinitely more lascivious. He shamelessly licked his darkly colored lips as he studied Steve's face. Steve couldn't stop himself. He threaded a finger through the ring on Clint’s collar and sloppily pressed their lips together. For a moment he panicked, positive that this was going to end very swiftly in utter embarrassment. Mercifully, after a moment of initial shock, Clint grabbed fistfuls of Steve's shirt and leaned into him. The kiss became messier and more intense as they each tried to take control.

They stumbled back against the table as Clint guided Steve’s hand down the front of his pants. Steve's heart raced when his fingers slid over the other man's erection. This was something that happened in sub-conscious fantasies that floated through his mind as he fell asleep. This couldn't actually be happening. After a jerky start, Steve worked up a steady stroking rhythm. Steve’s own pants were feeling a bit too tight now. Clint dug his fingers into Steve's shoulders as he arched into his touch. The noises he made were needy, bordering on pornographic. He kissed Clint with more deliberate, slow passion, partially just to shut him up. When they finally came up for air Clint leaned forward to whisper in Steve's ear.

“Let me suck you off,” he panted. Steve felt a wave of desire wash over him and let out a quiet groan. Clint planted lingering kisses down his neck. “Please,” he murmured against Steve's skin. “I want you to come in my mouth.” 

It felt like his brain shut down. He slipped his hand out of Clint's pants. Never breaking eye contact, Clint sank to his knees and unfastened Steve’s jeans at a maddeningly slow pace. Steve leaned against the table, grasping the edge. Anticipation was going to drive him crazy. Finally, Clint tugged his pants and briefs down enough to let his straining erection free. Clint pressed his tongue tentatively against the head before wrapping his lips around it. The lip ring felt strange as it slid over Steve’s sensitive skin, but in a very good way. He pushed his hips forward until he was completely enveloped in the warmth of Clint’s mouth. Clint looked up at him through thick eyelashes and began lazily sucking his shaft. Steve let his head loll back. Clint was really good at this. He felt his nervousness subside as lust clouded his brain.

Holding his hips still was difficult. Eventually he decided against it and let them buck forward involuntarily. He put a hand on the back of Clint's head as he controlled his thrusts. The pace was a bit harsh, but Clint moaned as Steve pumped into him. Steve made lewd noises of his own as he felt the swell of release begin to rise. Clint held on to Steve with delicious desperation; one hand up under his shirt, resting on his waist and the other gripping his hip hard enough to bruise. God, he looked good down on his knees. Steve thrust in one last time and clutched the table, feeling the metal buckle slightly under his grasp. His vision blurred white as he emptied himself down the back of Clint's throat. 

Clint stood up, gingerly wiping his mouth with his thumb. His lips were red and swollen and the lip ring had been shifted to the left side of his mouth. Steve pulled him forward by bits of shredded shirt and kissed him gently. 

“That was as good as I thought it'd be,” Clint said. “So. This really does it for you, huh?” He gestured at his outfit.

“I guess. You look good,” he muttered, suddenly embarrassed about the whole thing. Steve hoisted his pants back up and fastened them. He realized that Clint never got off. That wasn't very considerate. “Um, what about you?”

Clint furrowed his brow a moment before getting Steve's meaning. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said brightly, plucking his jacket from the floor and donning the tattered thing. “I do _not_ want to make a mess in these pants. Fury would kill me. Again. Because he’ll have already killed me for fooling around with the talent.” He waggled his fingers at Steve. 

Steve smiled, trying to distract from his attempt to bend the edge of the table back in to place. It was a total failure. Clint noticed and the metal wouldn't budge.

Clint poked the indentions, bemused and impressed. “Oh wow.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed.

“It was bound to get banged up.” Clint looked at him and stifled a laugh. Steve piqued an eyebrow. Clint gestured at his face, “You have lipstick on you.” He balled up some of his shirt and wiped at Steve's face and neck. “Sorry about that.” 

Just then the door swung open.

“What are you--” Natasha began.

“Nothing!” Steve replied a bit too quickly. Good going, genius.

She narrowed her eyes at them. “It's time to go.”

“Well, here goes nothing,” Clint said as he made his way to the door. “Oh, and Steve, thanks.”

“For what?”

“Getting rid of my pre-mission jitters. Let me know when I can return the favor,” Clint responded with a wink. Then he disappeared out the door.

Steve rubbed his face. What had he gotten himself into now?


End file.
